


let's give them something to talk about

by the_other_lutece_sister



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, OHANA MEANS FAMILY, Rock Band AU, clone club - Freeform, propunk - Freeform, sestre - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8577940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: orphan black rock band au, v loosely based on tumblr user sharkodactyl's headcanons which you can find  here





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piggy09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/gifts).



> !!happy birthday natalie!!

 

i.

 

There was a moment - just a moment - where they were all in sync and they _soared._

 

Sarah’s fingers glided up and down the guitar strings. her mouth twisted in a half-grin, half-snarl. Helena kept the beat going on the drums _rat-a-tat-tat-BOOM,_ the lights changing her hair to pink-red-orange-yellow-green-blue. Alison picked out the notes on her keyboard. Cosima plucked at her bass, head bobbing with the beat. And Rachel?

Rachel’s voice cut through the smoky light and made every person in the bar look up from their sorrow-drowning drinks and feel what they were trying to avoid feeling, and made them forget why they didn’t want to feel it.

Then Cosima’s fingers slipped and her bass made a sad fart noise and she started laughing; even harder when Sarah glared at her from across the stage. Rachel could hear them behind her and rolled her eyes, still singing. But the moment was lost and the crowd - all eight of them - returned to their drinks.

 

It was their first gig.

 

ii.

 

By the fourth week, the bar was packed when they played.

 

Afterwards, they crammed up against each other in the band room - generously named considering it consisted of one couch, one small fridge with a six-pack of beer, and a view of the urinals every time the bathroom door swung open.

Sarah vaulted over the couch to get to the beer first, flicking the cap off and chugging while grabbing a second and tossing it to Helena. She caught it without looking, using her other hand to tap a beat on Cosima’s arm as they bent their heads together to discuss various applications of syncopation. Cos leaned over to take hers from Sarah’s hand, clinking the bottles together and saying _cheers_ in an almost passable British accent.

 

Sarah pointed a beer at Rachel, who merely looked at her and said “I’m going to get a proper drink” and headed in towards the bar. Sarah shrugged.

“More for me then,” she shouted at the back of the blonde and took another swig, running her tongue around the bottle top as her gaze slowly swept up from Rachel’s murderously high heels to the exposed nape of her neck. As she disappeared in the crowd, Sarah’s attention turned back to the room, only to find Alison shaking her head at her with pursed lips. She sculled the rest of the beer and opened another, slightly flustered.

“Shut up Alison,” she grumbled.

“Dude.” Cosima sighed, “C’mon. We all know that, like, inter-band relationships screw everything up.” Helena grinned and pounded the couch arm with her sticks, and made kissy noises at Sarah. She seemed to _like_ Rachel. Sarah didn’t know why. Sarah didn’t know why _Sarah_ liked Rachel.

She opened her mouth to tell _all_ of them to shut up, then Rachel walked back in the room, carrying a glass of red wine, and a card. She was smiling. They all went quiet. They’d never seen Rachel smile before.

 

“Ladies,” she said, “we’ve had an offer.”

 

iii.

 

A four day festival. It didn’t sound like much, but this particular festival was renowned for being the first stop on the long road to success. It was ran by some mysterious music industry figure, who handpicked all the bands that appeared, and the audience would be crawling with international music journalists, record label representatives, band bookers for major venues all over the country... And if your shows lived up to your potential...Sarah could name a dozen bands that had blazed their way to the top after playing this festival. They could score a record deal. They could be bloody rock stars!

 

The festival was held in some park somewhere out of town, stages set up in massive tents, with food vans and market stalls set up in between. The various bands and performers were put up in a village of tents, walkways lit with paper lanterns. Sarah caught Rachel staring at the port-a-loo’s with an expression of mild horror, and grinned crookedly.

“The glamour of show biz!” Sarah declared, throwing her arms in the air theatrically. One arm came down along Rachel’s shoulders ever so casually. “Might have to change yer shoes, Duncan. Don’t fancy a loo run at 3am in heels over _this_.” She poked a boot into the ground, still muddy from the downpour a few nights ago.

Rachel shuddered slightly. “I don’t _have_ a change of shoes.” She could feel Sarah’s arm around her and it made her feel warm inside, like drinking port from a heated glass on a rainy night, like the way she felt when she was onstage. So, for some reason she couldn’t articulate to herself, she rolled her shoulders back and stepped forward, and then Sarah shrugged and stepped back, sliding her hands into her back pockets.

“You wanna borrow my boots? I got a spare pair.”

Rachel gave a short laugh. “No, thank you.” A pause. “I’ll see if Alison has something I can slip on.”

Sarah snorted. “Alison has everything in that backpack of hers. Probably an extra tent or two as well.” She was suddenly tackled from behind by a mop of blonde hair, toppling forward and getting mud on her leather jacket.

“We don’t need extra tent!”, declared Helena. “We are _sharing_ tent, Sarah! Camping is fun!”

Sarah groaned from her position on the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, camping is fun. But listen, meathead-” she rolled over and pointed a finger at Helena, who was doing a jerky little dance complete with finger guns around Sarah’s prone figure, “ - you fart in the tent and no s’mores for you. Got it?” Helena stopped dancing and made an exaggerated sad face.

“I cannot stop the farts, sestra,” she said, very seriously.

Rachel was fervently glad that she had a tent to herself. She glanced at her watch.

“We should get ready. We’re on in an hour.”

 

iv.

 

Weeks of actual rehearsal had made their set as tight as it could get, and still left room for all of them to improvise and play off each other. Their first performance was the eleven o’clock show on the opening night - the sweet time where most of the crowd were happily drunk and ready to keep dancing.

 

Rachel looked out over the sea of people, all faces turned towards her, mesmerised, waiting for her voice to soothe and shock, and she felt the warmth in the pit of her stomach. She glanced sideways at Sarah, who gave her a nod and struck a chord. Rachel closed her eyes and opened her mouth.

 

Helena’s gaze never stopped moving as her eyes flicked from Sarah to Cosima to Sarah to Alison to Sarah to Rachel to Sarah. Her timing was impeccable and she seemed to have bottomless amounts of energy, her hair flipping around during her solos like a cloud of feathers, drawing whoops and hollers from the crowd. The _huge_ crowd. The _more people than they’d ever played to ever_ crowd.

Sarah’s guitar and Rachel’s voice twined around each other like smoke in the slower numbers, and in the fast songs, they snarled and spliced together. Rachel would turn her head slightly and watch Sarah’s fingers work on the strings, mouth curving at some secret thought. Sarah would stare at Rachel’s profile while she sang, wondering for the millionth time where the bloody hell the girl buried all that emotion that came pouring out in her voice.

Cosima prowled along the stage, head continually bobbing in time with her bass, shamelessly flirting with every single girl in the front row, and Alison...Alison kept an eye on them all, occasionally shaking her head in exasperation, but sporting a grin on her face as she bent over the keys.

 

They were a hit.

 

v.

 

The last show of the festival was in a cavernous old warehouse in the city centre - bands played from 10am to midnight, a last chance to see anyone you’d missed due to scheduling conflicts, or being too hungover. The street outside had been closed off and the always-reliable food vans formed a semicircle - in the middle of which Sarah found Helena, eyes like an owl as her head swiveled around the various menu boards. She gave her a shoulder-bump, and chuckled.

“Just get one of everything, meathead, like you always do.”

“Do not call me this,” Helena answered, but distractedly. Her voice brightened. “Sarah, look...they have potato spiral on a stick! And ice creams dipped in chocolate sprinkles! And little tiny pancakes with maple syrups and chocolate sauce!” Sarah looked around at the menus through the crowd, and decided to go for the potato spiral. Hey, it was a vegetable, right? Healthy, she told herself.

“You seen anyone else?” she asked Helena, running her hand through her hair and arching her eyebrows at a small group of girls that walked past, saw the two of them, did a double-take, walked past again, one of them whispering to the others, _it’s them!_ Helena waved cheerily at them, and the girls waved back with startled grins, before grabbing each other's arms and quietly screaming.

“Rachel is in band room, I think.” Helena told her, with a sly smile, and headed determinedly towards the tiny-pancake-van, blond curls bouncing.

Sarah scowled at her sister's retreating back. “Didn’t bloody mention Rachel, did I,” she muttered, and set off to find the band room.

 

The backstage area was a maze of half-walls and doors that wouldn’t shut properly. Sarah finally found the door with their name on it and shoved it open.

“Oi, Rachel!” she said loudly, as she stuck her head into the room.

Silence, then a faint “Yes?” came from the back of the room. A few sheets had been pinned up to give the impression of privacy in one corner. Rachel was changing into her stage clothes. She only wore white onstage. It was nigh on impossible to keep your eyes off her when the lights shone.

Sarah fidgeted with a pick she’d found in her pocket, turning it over and over in her fingers.

“Uh, I just...wanted to go over the set list. Make sure I got the order right in my head, yeah?”

There was no answer, just the sound of a zipper being pulled and then stopping. Rachel replied with a terse _fine._ After a moment of silence, she sighed and called out “Sarah?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me a hand with my dress? The zipper is -” Rachel gave another exasperated sigh as she tugged, “-stuck.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” her mouth was suddenly dry and she shoved the pick back in her pocket. Her boots echoed on the floorboards and she yanked a sheet back. Rachel stood in a white dress with an asymmetrical neckline that gaped at the back. After a moment Sarah realised _she_ was gaping, and shut her mouth. Whenever she saw Rachel in one of her stage outfits, she was struck by the resemblance to a swan - elegant and and graceful and dazzling white. Sarah always wore black, herself - ripped, studded, jagged.

Rachel turned so she was facing the mostly intact mirror, and her back was facing Sarah.

Sarah cleared her throat and stepped forward, fingers suddenly clumsy as she grabbed the zipper and tugged at it. “Wait…the fabric’s caught…”

“Yes.” said Rachel drily, “That’s why it’s stuck.”

“Yeah, well...shut up.” Sarah answered, lamely, her cheeks hot. Her eyes flicked up and met Rachels eyes in the mirror. She was watching Sarah with a faint smile. Sarah ducked her head slightly, feeling uncharacteristically shy. What was it about the girl that made her feel like some grubby street urchin? What the bloody hell was an urchin anyway?

She fiddled with the zipper, trying to pull the fabric loose without ripping it, trying not to get distracted by the creamy skin of Rachel’s upper back, or the way her shoulder blades moved slightly as she breathed, sharpening and softening.

“Got it!” she exclaimed triumphantly, giving the zip a wiggle, then pulling it up. Her fingertips lightly brushed against Rachel’s skin, and she chanced another look at the mirror. There was a slight blush on the blonde girl's cheeks, but she looked steadily at Sarah, as if considering an idea.

“Thank you.” she said. Her gaze switched to herself in the mirror, smoothing her hands down over her stomach, then around her hips. The dress was just past knee-length, short split up the back, sleeveless, fitted. Sarah stood, awkwardly, behind her, wishing desperately for a beer. Her boot started tapping against the floor. Rachel finished examining herself and took a folded sheet of paper from the bench that served as a makeup table. She handed it to Sarah, who took it with a frown.

“The set-list,” Rachel prompted, with raised eyebrows. “That you came for?”

“Yeah...right.” Sarah nodded and made a show of reading the song names, muttering the chord changes as she went. Rachel turned back and picked up the tube of lipstick, pulling the lid off with a soft _click._ For a moment she stood, twisting the tube, the deep red appearing and disappearing.

Sarah refolded the paper and held it out, distracting Rachel from her reverie. She took the paper, placed it on top of a pile of scrawled lyrics.

“Thanks,” Sarah offered. Rachel looked as if she was about to say something, but her gaze slipped away and she turned to the mirror. She started applying the lipstick, startlingly red against her pale skin, blonde hair, and white dress. Her hand was steady. Good. Sarah always made her feel slightly unsettled. As if she would rub up against Rachel any moment, like a grubby alley cat, and leave dirty fingerprints all over her immaculate white dress. Sometimes she longed to grab the girl and throw her in a bath, scrub her face clean, see what she was hiding behind the black smears of eyeliner and that mane of hair.

Her eyes flicked back to Sarah, sitting now, one leg jumping, biting her lip. Then swung back to her own face, a visage of elegance. She sighed imperceptibly.

We all have our masks.

 

Sarah cleared her throat. “So, uh…”

Rachel felt her stomach tighten.

“This bloke come up to me earlier. He’s from a label. They wanna sign us.”

“Oh,” Rachel said after a moment in which she felt relieved and somehow disappointed. Then she thought about it, and said “ _Oh_.”

 

She sat down opposite Sarah, heels in hand.  
“What do the others say?”

 

“Haven’t told ‘em yet.” Sarah looked shamefaced. “Look. You’ve got the business brain of the band. Figured I’d talk to you first, see if he’s legit. “ She handed over a card. “He gave me this, said to call the office, set up a meeting. This could be our big break, yeah?”

"Hm. If there's interest, this won't be the only offer we get." Rachel studied the card. “I know the name. I’ll have my lawyers check it out, just to be thorough.”

Sarah snorted. “Of course you have lawyers.” And probably butlers and maids, and...and a personal shopper. God forbid Rachel Duncan should ever set foot in someplace so common as a bloody shop.

Rachel lifted her chin and looked away. “My _parents_ have lawyers. For -” she waved a hand vaguely, “- business.”

“Right.” Sarah’s fingers tapped on her knees. “So...we’ll talk to the others after the show, yeah? Family decision and all that.”

Rachel’s mouth quirked up slightly on one side, so quickly Sarah thought she must have imagined it. She hadn’t been joking, really. The band was her family. The way she felt when they were on stage, surrounded by the music...it was...it felt like _home_.

 “I’ll see you out there, then,” Rachel prompted, as Sarah sat with a faraway look in her smudged eyes.

“Yeah...see you out there.” Sarah leapt up and headed for the door. As she opened it, she hesitated, then turned, and said tentatively, “Hey, Rachel?”

Rachel was back in front of the mirror, examining her makeup. “Yes?”

“Um. You look really good.” Then she flung herself out the door and Rachel could hear her boots on the floorboards moving away, fast.

Rachel almost smiled.

 

vi.

 

They had the prime spot of the night. Someone up there (‘there’ being the upper echelons of festival management) liked them. Sarah stood at the side of the stage, and felt the thrum of nervous energy and anticipation in her stomach, the same as before every single show. Hands in pockets, she bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the band playing before them, a sort of funky reggae. She spotted Cosima at the front of the stage, arms moving in slow arcs above her head, rolling her eyes as she saw her take a deep toke on the joint being passed along. She caught the eye of the sound guy - Tony - and he gave her a wink and a flash of his gold tooth. She grinned and gave him a thumbs up. She turned her head to find Helena and Alison just behind her. Helena was eating - god. A deep fried hot dog? Alison tapped her foot in time, smiling politely. She was wearing earplugs, of course. Sarah personally didn’t consider it a good gig unless her ears were ringing.

She saw a flash of white out of the corner of her eye, and felt her cheeks start to burn as Rachel stepped up next to her. Her head was tilted slightly and she studied the band with no expression, her arms folded.

 

“Pretty good, ‘ey?” She shouted into Rachel’s ear. She had to stretch a little, because of the heels. Rachel shrugged.

 

“Not as good as us.” she stated, matter-of-factly. Sarah chuckled. They _were_ good. Back when she was playing guitar on the street to feed herself, before she’d even known she had a sister, before any of this, she never would have imagined she’d be here one day. On the verge of something even bigger. This was their shot, their time, she could feel it in her gut.

She glanced at Rachel again, bit her lip, and looked away. Cos and Ali were right. Shagging your bandmates was a bad idea. She looked out into the crowd. There were plenty of other people she could spend time with, if she wanted to…

 

They played, and they soared. Sarah felt that hot, floaty feeling - that feeling like you weren’t _playing_ the music, it was playing _you,_ and if it stopped you may as well be dead. She felt invincible and full of electricity and fire and _want_. She could tell the others were feeling it too, as she swung in circles back to the drumset, putting a boot up on the bass-drum and shredding her guitar as Helena grinned so wide it looked like the top of her head would fall off, her hands a blur. Rachel hit the final note and held it, steadily rising up the scale, Sarah matching her at first and then letting the guitar rest while the final echo of her voice rang out.

The crowd was silent for a split second before turning rapturous. Sarah grinned, waving an arm at the blurry faces, winking at a cute blonde in the front row, digging into her pockets for extra picks, and hurling them into the throng. Helena leapt up onto the drum set and set the sticks spinning in her hands, then they too flew out into the crowd, and were greeted with squeals. Cosima had whipped out a sharpie and knelt down to write her number on the arm of a cute redheaded girl. Alison just bobbed up and down and smiled and waved politely.

Rachel was still standing at the mic, head bowed, eyes closed. The lights still burned inside her eyelids while the waves of applause and cheering and screaming washed over her, spilling into that empty space deep down, making her feel - happy, perhaps. Was this what happiness felt like? Being a temporary god?

 

They all milled around backstage for a bit, raking over the performance, still too hyped to sit down. _shit helena that solo in sweet revenge was bloody amazing_ \- _that little da-da-DA-dum-da you did in paper moon really ties it together, ali_ \- _did you see them all singing along to a drive to nowhere?_ \- _I need more drumsticks sestra -_ Sarah and Rachel’s eyes met over the excited chattering, Sarah still grinning and high, Rachel still feeling the glow of attention and admiration.

 

The group started moving towards the band room - word had it drinks and food were being laid on for everyone out back, the big finale blowout, and everyone wanted to get into some less sweaty clothes. Rachel and Sarah found themselves behind the others, keeping a slower pace.

Sarah ran a hand through her hair, pulling the strands stuck to her forehead free.

 

“That was bloody fantastic!” she crowed, then tipped her head back and whooped. Rachel raised her eyebrows, but even she was smiling, the high of holding sway still fizzing through her blood and making her uncharacteristically gracious.

 

“It was,” she offered. “You make that guitar sing, Sarah.”

Sarah scoffed good-naturedly. “Bloody hell, is that a _compliment_ ? Did Rachel Duncan just _compliment_ someone?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ludicrous.”

“I knew I was hearing things.” Sarah glanced at Rachel with a sly smile, then scuffed her boot and said, “Thanks, anyway.” She knew she was good with the guitar - she’d never been good at anything before, except running away. But the first time she picked it up, she knew this was **it**...the way her hands wrapped around it felt so natural, and it spoke to her in a way nothing else ever had. And it allowed her to speak through it - channeling all that anger and loneliness and desire. Sometimes she thought that the always-present urge to jump her leg up and down - that was just the beat trying to find it’s way out. It was like - rough magic.

 

She stopped, and faced Rachel. “You were amazing too, y’know. Your voice is…” She wanted to say all sorts of terrible, trite things; it’s beautiful, it’s magical, it’s like silk and velvet and knives and glass, it’s like getting kissed and slapped all at once. But Rachel was looking at her and her eyes weren’t cold for once, and her lips were curved and she was standing so close and this would never work, it was an awful idea but what the hell.

 

Sarah stepped forward and kissed her, hands hovering just over her shoulders, then settling, fingers stroking the bare skin there, moving slowly up and down. Rachel was still for the barest second, then kissed Sarah back, lips parting. One hand enmeshed itself in Sarah’s hair, gently twisting the mane into a rope. The other rested on Sarah’s collarbone, silver nails gleaming dully in the dim backstage lighting as they traced the jutting bones. They could still hear the murmur of the crowd, and all manner of techs and roadies and festival staff shouting and laughing, but it all seemed very far away. They kissed and forgot about everything else for a brief shining moment.

Then something heavy went _thud_ on the other side of the wall, someone cursed loudly, and the moment passed. Sarah felt Rachel pull away, her hands moving to Sarah’s shoulders and then dropping.

 

“Sarah…” she sighed. “We can’t do this.”

 

Sarah swallowed, wrapping her arms around herself, not quite looking Rachel in the face.

“Right,” she muttered, embarrassed. “No shagging the bandmates.” _you fucked up again, manning_ whispered a little voice inside her. A little voice that she’d have to go drown out right now, if she could find a bottle large enough.

Rachel exhaled sharply through her nose. “If we get signed, that’s going to mean a lot of things will change. We don’t need to add to the complications with - “ she tilted her head slightly, and gazed upwards, “- _more_ complications.”

Sarah nodded, miserably. She was right. The band was more important than any little romance that would probably turn sour after a week, no matter how good it felt right now.

 

“Bollocks,” was what actually came out of her mouth, and she pushed past Rachel sulkily, stomping off to the party alone.

 

Rachel, her face showing the barest trace of frustration, watched her leave, then headed to the band room to get changed and repair her lipstick. By the time she joined the rest of the band, Sarah had commandeered a bottle of bourbon and a pretty blonde girl who resembled Rachel if you squinted a bit. Helena said nothing, but handed Rachel a glass of wine with a shrug. Alison and Cosima seemed oblivious to the drama as they chatted to other musicians, comparing notes, the buzz still evident in their elated faces.

Rachel spotted a suit making a beeline for them, and smoothed her dress down her ribcage, plastering a smile on her face as he handed her his card. As she shook his hand, she caught Sarah’s eye over his shoulder. The other girl looked away immediately, frowning, then she whispered into the blonde girl’s ear, making her bite her lip and smile. Rachel realised she still had the suit’s hand in her own, and he was wincing slightly from the pressure. She let go.

 

vii.

 

By the end of the night, Rachel had a stack of business cards, and had shaken the sweaty hands of more people in suits than at one of her parents interminable business parties. Helena was riding around on the shoulders of Tony the sound guy and drumming on everything she could reach while he passed up occasional snacks. Cosima was deep in conversation with the redhead - tongues were certainly involved, anyway - and Alison...well, Alison had already gone to bed, because _someone has to be responsible_ and _I need a clear head for the drive home tomorrow._ Sarah and her bottle and her new friend had long since disappeared.

Rachel didn’t feel much like partying on herself, so she tucked the cards into her purse and went outside to hail a cab. All in all, the festival had been a resounding success. Within a year, they’d have a best-selling album and a sold-out world tour.

 

But she didn’t know that yet, and as she stared out of the taxi window into the darkness, she thought about how surprisingly soft Sarah's lips had been, how her own heartbeat had seemed to speed up, and stop, at the same time. In that split second, she had wanted Sarah more than she had ever wanted anything. Thankfully, it had passed. Rachel felt the weight of the cards in her purse. Her jaw tightened.

It would be worth it in the long run. It would all be worth it. _  
_

 

                                                                                                                     ☆ ★ ☆ ★ ☆

**Author's Note:**

> Try to make a little conversation, with the demons in my mind  
> Everybody has a first world problem, taking up their precious time  
> Oh I remember, I remember when we kissed, September  
> Nothing could compare to this, to be a lover, is to be the optimist  
> We’re too young to make it out  
> Let’s give them something to talk about  
> Can you hear the fire alarm?  
> Cause I can feel the fire coming on  
> We’re too young to make it out  
> Let’s give them something to talk about  
> Can you hear the fire alarm?  
> Cause I can feel the fire coming on  
> Cause I can feel the fire coming on  
> Cause I can feel the fire coming on  
> Fire Alarm - Castlecomer
> 
>  
> 
> With his own bolt;  
>     the strong-based promontory  
> Have I made shake, and by the spurs plucked up  
> The pine and cedar; graves at my command  
> Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let 'em forth  
> By my so potent art. But this rough magic  
> I here abjure, and when I have required  
> Some heavenly music, which even now I do,  
> To work mine end upon their senses that  
> This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,  
> Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,  
> And deeper than did ever plummet sound  
> I’ll drown my book.  
> The Tempest - Shakespeare
> 
> Because I am terrible at making up titles/names, the song titles mentioned in the fic have been lifted from sharko's sestre drabbles.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Oh Dreams, Oh Memories](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13022253) by [the_other_lutece_sister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister)




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